


kiss me (like you wanna be loved)

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, Ridiculously fluffy, before the band au, first kisses!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4800161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Michael’s fifteen and he still hasn’t had his first kiss and he thinks about nothing but that.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss me (like you wanna be loved)

**Author's Note:**

> i don't usually write muke but i had really bad muke feels because even when you're not muke af, you're muke af. this is really messy and all over the place but it's really fluffy and has a lot of swearing in it because michael's in it, obviously. 
> 
> title's from ed sheeran's "kiss me" and i hope you enjoy or something!!

Michael’s fifteen and he still hasn’t had his first kiss and he thinks about _nothing_ but that. He’s seen so many kisses before on the TV—a boy’s mouth against a girl’s and Michael doesn’t really see anything _appealing_ about it but _Calum_ has had his first with a girl and he _always_ tells Michael how nice it was even though she had lots of sticky lipgloss on and Michael doesn’t really _get it_.

The thing is, the thing what _really_ gets to Michael, is that even _Luke_ has had his first kiss. He’s shy when he tells Michael this, of course, with cherry red cheeks and a bashful duck of his head—when he tells Michael about how some pretty girl in their class pulled him behind the music block and kissed him full on the mouth, soon enough splitting open his kiss-bruised lips with her tongue. He’s not exactly shy when he tells Michael that he _enjoyed_ it a lot.

Michael’s heart seems to _turn_ over a little when Luke’s finished telling him, a funny little sad thing accompanied with a strange surge of _jealousy_ —except it’s not the kind of jealousy he feels when he sees how easy Calum and Luke’s friendship is, how easy it is for them to navigate with each other when he’s _always_ struggled with that stuff. He doesn’t know _what_ kind of jealousy it is. He can’t exactly pluck it out of his chest and dissect it until he knows and he just figures that he’ll learn enough sooner or later.

He still doesn’t get it, though. He doesn’t _understand_ the fascination his friends have with pressing their lips against a _girl’s_ and enjoying it—it doesn’t look too appealing to him, her lips coated with lipgloss or lipstick or even not, and her lips would be so soft, too soft, and they just wouldn’t _fit_ right with his own.

In fact, Michael finds himself stumbling over one little random thought of kissing a _boy_. The instant the idea is planted in his head, he can’t stop _thinking_ about it—he can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to plaster himself against a boy’s chest and slot his lips with theirs, not too soft and fitting just right between his own. It’s—it’s _weird_ , is what it is, because Michael’s a _boy_ and boys don’t generally _kiss_ other boys.

He even says the _slurs_ and he obviously _can’t_ be a boy who likes other boys when he uses those slurs to offend people, right? And, yet, no matter how much he tries to give excuses as to why he _can’t_ be one of _those boys_ , he just can’t seem it push it out of his mind of how much he _wants_ to be with a boy. He goes into a bit of a rut over it, to be honest—he draws back into himself, stays away from Luke and Calum, and tries and tries and _tries_ to think it over and _understand_ it.

Eventually, Luke comes knocking at his bedroom door at some random time in the night. He’s timid about it, obviously—and that sometimes _annoys_ Michael because he _knows_ that Luke’s not meek, not this timid little thing, because he’s like a fucking _supernova_ when he escapes that crippling shyness—and stands on the threshold of Michael’s bedroom with his stupid feet pointed inwards.

“Come in,” Michael mutters. He pauses his game on his laptop and closes it, sets it on his bedside table so he can give Luke his full attention. It’s strange that he keeps doing that for Luke, he thinks, because he usually doesn’t give up his games for people—his games keep him comfortable when he’s socialising, an escape from when he’s going to inevitably fuck up while having simple conversation. Luke’s an exception, though.

Luke seems to be an exception to all of Michael’s little quirks or something.

Luke gives him a little smile as he steps into the room, pushing the clothes and the school books and homework from weeks ago and the video games scattered all over Michael’s floor out of the way with the tips of his peeling trainers, and eventually clambers onto the bed with scrawny limbs that obviously haven’t been grown into yet. He sits opposite Michael, at the end of the bed, and crosses his legs over each other.

Michael finds his eyes watching the way Luke moves—there’s just _something_ about it that _gets_ to him because it’s awkward and not exactly the most fluid and it’s just _Luke_ and it kind of makes Michael’s heart flutter a little bit. It makes Michael’s heart flutter in the way it does when he thinks about kissing _boys_.

“Do you hate me again?” Luke suddenly blurts out just as Michael’s about to part his lips, just as he’s about to say something, and all that slips through the small crack is a small disbelieving laugh.

It’s an almost preposterous idea that he’d ever _hate_ Luke now—the way Michael’s heart is warm in his chest just being _around_ the younger boy says that he’ll never be even so much as _capable_ of hating Luke. He’ll never admit it, of course.

“I don’t hate you,” he huffs out, shaking his head.

Luke cocks his head to the side and Michael’s heart does a funny thing and all he can _think_ is how _adorable_ he thinks that _is_ and he thinks it’s that exact moment when everything all melts together—the jealousy and the heart flutters and the way it warms and the way he just feels so _safe_ with Luke—and he realises that, oh fuck, he kind of has a crush on his best friend.

A crush that is epically _massive_.

(Also: he’s gay. Or something like that. He only likes boys and he wants to kiss boys and _definitely_ wants to do _things_ with boys and that’s _gay_ , right? Oh fuck. He’s _gay_. Ohfuckohfuckoh _fuck_. This is a very New Thing that Michael’s not sure he’s prepared for.)

“Why do you keep avoiding me? A—and Calum, uh,” Luke says, stutters a little, and he’s absolutely clueless to the mini crisis and probable mental breakdown that has just gone down in Michael’s head.

Michael forces himself to shrug. “Just going through some stuff.”

The younger boy’s brows furrow and he chews on his bottom lip as he thinks over what he wants to say. Michael can’t keep his eyes off Luke’s mouth, now—drawn in by the way they’re shaped and the way his bottom lip is going to be so deliciously red and all he wants to do is—well. All he wants to do is _kiss_ Luke which is also a relatively New Thing.

“Talk to me?” Luke asks slowly, then—and it’s actually not exactly asking and it’s not exactly commanding, either. It’s more of a coax. Michael’s still a bit more interested in the way Luke’s lips move with the words and how his lips make the words _look_ almost pretty and he knows he should probably be thinking of something else, but. Luke’s lips.

He can’t stop thinking about them.

“Michael?”

He immediately looks away from Luke’s lips, _forces_ himself to, and instead focuses his gaze on that particular spot just above Luke’s head, muttering a small, “Yeah?” to show Luke that he’s listening even when he’s not actually listening. The things he does for this boy are ridiculous.

“What are you thinking about—you can talk to me, you know.”

Michael’s not exactly sure what makes him say it. He blames it on the comfortable atmosphere just because and the way it’s night—a silver of moonlight peeking through Michael’s nearly-black curtains. Nights have always been his and Luke’s thing ever since they became friends, hushed secrets spilling from their mouths and being hidden away in the darkness. This is like that, really, except it’s not too-quiet at two AM.

He says, “I haven’t had my first kiss yet,” and it sounds shameful and he really does think it _is_ because he’s fifteen and sure he’s really fucking gay apparently but _everyone_ has had their first kiss by now and, as always, Michael’s the odd one out, the outcast, the _reject_. He’d make not having his first kiss be _punk rock_ or something if he _didn’t_ want a first kiss but he really _does_ want his first kiss, so there’s that.

Luke makes a little humming sound. “So?”

Michael stares at him from across the bed, perplexed. “I haven’t had my first kiss! Calum’s had his first kiss and so has everyone else in our year and even _you_ have had your first kiss!”

There’s a little frown on Luke’s face, now. “And?”

“I _want_ my first kiss,” he sighs. He sees Luke’s lips part and he _knows_ what Luke’s going to say but there’s a problem—there’s a problem because: “No-one wants to kiss me, Luke.”

“What?” Luke says with a little laugh. Michael frowns, too, because this _really_ isn’t something to laugh about and he thinks Luke’s being a fucking _dick_ for laughing— especially when Michael’s just confided in him like that. He wonders if Luke’s laughing because he _agrees_ that no-one wants to kiss Michael.

“ _Of course_ people want to kiss you—I’d kiss you!”

 _I’d kiss you_.

The air gets knocked out of Michael’s lungs and he stares at Luke with wides eyes and Luke stares back with even _wider_ eyes and Michael’s heart is _jumping_ wildly in his chest, beating _so_ fast, and he says, so quietly, “Would you really?”

He watches as Luke gulps a little, his mouth parting. “Yeah,” the younger boy finally says—and he sounds as quiet as Michael does, if not as even more _breathless_. Michael’s heart is trying to fight its way out of his chest by now and his stomach is heavy with moths or, even _worse_ , butterflies and he can’t believe he’s only just noticing this now.

They don’t say anything after that, silence hanging over them likes _knives_ or something, and the atmosphere’s not exactly comfortable but it’s not awkward either, and Michael wants to _kiss_ Luke so badly that he feels it everywhere: in his skin and in his bones and in his _lips_ and, after a while, it becomes too much and it spills out his mouth before he can help it: “Will you kiss me, Luke?”

Luke gulps again, his sharp Adam’s apple moving in his throat. He licks over his bottom lip and answers with a small, “Y—yeah, of course,” and then he’s crawling across the bed until he’s leaning on his knees right in front of where Michael’s sitting with his legs crossed and his knees are brushing against Michael’s shins and his face is _so_ close and Michael thinks he’s, like, _dead_ or having the best dream of his life.

(He’s pretty sure his heart is going to _stop_.)

He feels all air leave him again in a little gasp when he feels Luke’s small hand settle on his cheek and he’s staring into the younger boy’s _wild_ blue eyes and, fuck, if this is the same electrifying lead up to every kiss, Michael never wants to stop kissing ever. “This is okay, right?” Luke asks shyly.

Michael nods shakily and Luke _kisses_ him. It’s obvious they’re both a bit inexperienced—it’s a bit messy, dry lips sliding almost painfully against dry lips, but it’s also weirdly _perfect_ because it’s them and they’re _giggling_ into each other’s mouths and Luke keeps coming back again and _again_ and brushing his lips against Michael’s and his thumb is rubbing over Michael’s cheek and it’s—it’s so _nice_.

“That was really nice,” Luke says afterwards when they’ve finally managed to stop kissing and they’re just led side-by-side with their small hands tangled between their bodies and Michael almost _snorts_. It was nice, yeah, but you don’t _say_ that kisses are _nice_ and he turns onto his side and buries his head into Luke’s shoulder.

“Shut up, Luke,” he says, and that’s that. When he feels Luke brush a simple, soft kiss against his forehead, he actually feels himself _blush_ and he turns his head down a little so Luke won’t see and it’s only _then_ that he says: “Thanks for giving me my first kiss.”

He can almost _hear_ Luke’s smile.

**Author's Note:**

> \- 2017: author cherries/groots (deleted); tumblr @faemikey (inactive). thanks for reading!


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